


Drop the Broom, Master James

by InkWitch (serkestic)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 11:40:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serkestic/pseuds/InkWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kreacher being a nanny and James being a pain in the neck - well, what ELSE do you expect from a Potter baby?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drop the Broom, Master James

**Author's Note:**

> This is a gift for my followers on Tumblr! Thank you guys for following me; especial thanks to my mutual follows. I love you guys!

Kreacher was starting to get increasingly relieved that the master and mistress had taken the baby with them on their trip to the Weasley’s. He was also starting to pray to the heavens above for them to decide that they really had had enough of their friends and return home quickly.

He was crawling on his hands and knees, as slow as a stalking tiger. This was required because (a) otherwise James would hear him and scuttle away with superhuman speed and (b) Albus was still sleeping and he didn’t want to worry about _another_ loose Potter baby. As he edged towards James’ toy shelf, Kreacher wondered why his usual superbly efficient elf magic hadn’t enabled him to entrap the baby yet. But the more times he tried to cast magical nets around James, the faster and more intuitive he got. Finally he’d had to concede and do it the Muggle way.

James’ high pealing laugh rang out and Kreacher swiftly rose to his feet as the baby spotted him. “Master James,” he called sternly. “I can see you quite clearly, peeking at me from that there ledge. Come down this instant, Master James, or I shall have to–” His threat went unfinished as James pushed the large doll in front of him off the shelf, dashing along the shelf’s length and dropping the rest of the toys to the floor. Kreacher moved forward to grab onto his foot, but missed the mark; James jumped off of the shelf and into his cot, squealing as he flew.

Kreacher huffed as the baby giggled at him through the cot’s bars. “I am not moving from this spot, Master James, until you’ve closed both eyes and returned to under your blanket,” he said severely. James simply chortled cheekily at him and reached a pudgy hand towards him.

“Kleecha!” the baby crooned. “Play with me, play!”

“Shh!” Kreacher darted forward, glancing in worry at Albus’ cot. Mercifully, and _miraculously_ , the younger Potter was sleeping peacefully. He looked down at James, struggling to keep the stern look on his face. But as James grabbed his fingers with both chubby hands and laughed a happy “Kleecha, up!” he felt his expression melt into an adoring smile.

He had loved this baby from the first moment. When the mistress and master had returned from the hospital, the master clutching a bundle of purple blankets to his chest and supporting the mistress with tender care, he had been handed the bundle and told to follow. Kreacher had looked down and seen James for the first time – a small, rather scrawny baby with the brown fuzz on its scalp and a dimple in one cheek. And it was gone: his heart, that is. Stolen by this devious angel of a child.

The other Potter babies had been equally enchanting, but somehow Kreacher never felt as captivated by them as he was with the eldest, much as he tried not to have favorites. Perhaps it was only because James had gotten there first. Kreacher did not know.

All he knew was that he had never expected to feel the way he had felt about Master Regulus again. Instant, unconditional love and a forgiving trust that he _knew_ in his mind was not entirely smart – see where loving Master Regulus like that had gotten him – but Kreacher abso _lutely_ did not care. He was happy again.

However, though he loved James the same way he had loved Regulus, the two could not be any more different. Where Regulus had been a quiet, contemplative babe, always content with following orders and an utter dream to take care of; James was hellfire unleashed. The child moved as fast and smooth as a Snitch, had a bizarre sense of humor – once he had accidentally smashed the entirety of the mistress’ favorite crystal glass set and had sat there giggling while the shards of glass were made to dance, twinkling, in front of him – and was never content with staying in one place. Even his sleep was restless and energetic: where Regulus (and incidentally, Albus) had rolled around in their cots, snorting adorably, sometimes managing to turn completely upside down in their sleep, James was ridiculous. It took him _hours_ to even start dozing, and when he finally fell into deep slumber, he moved _constantly_ , twitching a foot, tapping a finger, wiggling his butt. And sometimes he _levitated_ – clearly something unusual, because the first time that the mistress had seen him at it, she had shrieked loudly enough to wake up the rest of the babies. Kreacher supposed this meant that James was going to be a powerful wizard. He would not be the least bit surprised.

James was certainly difficult to take care of, but babysitting him was Kreacher’s favorite part of the day. As restless and wandering his attention was, Kreacher loved finding things to occupy his interest and inventing new games to play. Every time James laughed or hummed in approval, Kreacher felt a flush of pride and warmth in his chest. In fact, Kreacher had gotten so good at managing him that now the master and mistress always left it up to him to calm him down, or feed him, and other such nanny duties. Although this came with heavy responsibilities; Kreacher was a lot more conscientious when James was near any dangerous objects. Which meant basically _all_ the time; the baby could make a _pillow_ a fatal object.

James tugged Kreacher’s index finger hard and obstinately said, his volume increasing to a shout, “UP, Kleecha! PICK UP NOW!” Kreacher hurriedly picked him up, shushing him again.

“Alright, alright,” he said crossly, cradling the baby as James threw his arms around his shoulders. Kreacher exited the boys’ room, scolding the young master as he made his way to the kitchen. “Honestly, Master James, you are very irritating sometimes. The master and mistress just only _left_. It wouldn’t have hurt you to stay asleep for just an hour or two more.”

James rolled his eyes, and Kreacher had the distinct feeling that it had been on purpose. He frowned at the cheeky baby, setting him down in the play area in the kitchen. He observed that James was getting taller and made a mental note to tell the master to increase the height of the fence. James stood up and grabbed the fence, leaning towards Kreacher with a small annoyed look on his face, and the fence bent away slightly. Kreacher amended: height and _strength_ of the fence.

“Stay put,” Kreacher said strictly, making his face utterly blank of sympathy or adoration. “I must get started on dinner, Master James, and I do not have time go scurrying after you all over the house. Play with these.”

He snapped his fingers and multi-colored floating baubles appeared over James’ head, _just_ out of his reach. James ooh-ed and grabbed at a blue one, and the bauble bobbed out of his reach again, sparkling and ringing clear like a wind chime. He laughed and jabbed at another one; the green one bounced away and blinked bright green, honking like a goose. Kreacher moved away to start cooking, smiling in satisfaction as the noises continued, occasional bright colors falling on the walls.

Kreacher went back to what he was doing before he had heard James’ squeaky call: making steak and kidney pudding. Fortunately he’d only coated the steak and kidney when James had started up his shenanigans. Kreacher continued his cooking, keeping an ear cocked towards the baby’s cries, humming a little as he entered into his ‘zone’. He would never tell the master this, but his favorite work was cooking. There was something calming about the whole process, and it gave him extreme pleasure and satisfaction to see the family dig into his food and openly express their enjoyment. If the master knew it, though, he’d be ordered to only ever cook and let him and the mistress do the rest of the housework. Kreacher had to admit that yes, he _was_ getting old, but that didn’t mean he had to stop working. He enjoyed his work! In fact, he loved it! But the master was sometimes a little overzealous in his concern over Kreacher and as much as he appreciated it, Kreacher often felt like reminding the master that he had single-handedly survived at the mercy of Death Eaters so long ago and had also led the elf faction in the Battle of Hogwarts. He didn’t, because he knew the guilt-stricken expression that the master would acquire and he hated that look.

Kreacher shook his head, sliding the casserole into the oven and washing his hands vigorously. And then he noticed something strange: though the lights and bauble-sounds were still going on, there were no _baby_ noises. He spun around in alarm; James was not in the play area. He stood still for a moment, ears cocked for any sudden sounds, but when there was nothing for an entire moment, panic made his heart jump into his throat and pound rapidly.

“Oh dear,” Kreacher muttered as he strode towards the boys’ bedroom, struggling to keep his calm. “Oh dear, oh dear, I cannot believe I underestimated that hell-child. Of _course_ , Master James would be able to dupe the attention-seekers.”

He stopped short as the thud of a crash from the living room reached his ears. He turned 180 and sprinted, his ears flapping. As he entered the living room, he breathed an inward sigh of relief and outwardly exhaled loudly: James was sitting on the floor, the chandelier above swinging as if there were Cornish pixies playing on it. The crash had evidently been a vase of flowers; the pretty, pink petunias lay strewn in a puddle of water. Kreacher approached James and then stood stock still as he caught sight of what James was clutching in his hands.

 _This child is superhuman_ , Kreacher thought incredulously as he slowly held his hands up and said to a laughing James, “Master James. Drop your father’s Firebolt, Master James.”

In the back of his mind he threw a tantrum, wondering how James could _possibly_ open the master’s _locked_ – with Muggle locks and magic – broom closet. And how the broom, that heavy adult’s broom, could have _possibly_ been brought out by a _baby_. But Kreacher put his inner confusion aside and focused on getting this devil-child to _drop_ the broom before he figured out how to… how to…

“Oh, _curses_ ,” Kreacher hissed as James giggled up at him, cocking his head to the side, and experimentally straddled the broom. The wrong way, fortunately, James facing the bristles of the broom; but already the Firebolt was humming, levitating just two inches from the floor. Kreacher moved forward and James shot him a look; Kreacher stopped and glared at him. “Master James, get off that broom _right this minute_. You are in a lot of trouble, young master.”

“I want to fly,” James announced, and gripped the broom handle with his hands. Kreacher stared in alarm as he pulled the broom upwards – again marveling at _how_ the baby could have commanded the broom so well – and then exhaled again as the broom refused to budge. James frowned and shook the broom handle. “Up!” he commanded, his voice strong and determined. “Up _now_!”

The broom edged a few inches up and James squealed in pleasure, looking around at Kreacher for a smile of approval. When he got none, James pouted, shaking the handle again. “Kleecha, look! Fly! Up!”

“Master James–” Kreacher started to say, holding out his arms towards the baby, but the broom suddenly jerked upwards, climbing until James’ head brushed the chandelier. James laughed again and reached up to grab at the chandelier – with both hands.

Blood pulsing in his ears, Kreacher snapped his fingers and ran forward in one fluid motion. The baby fell on a plush-pillow cage and Kreacher caught the Firebolt before it could fall on James and brain him. The plush-pillow cage hovered and James peered at Kreacher from in between the bars. Kreacher shot him a glare, at which he chuckled in delight, and left him there to return the broom to its closet. He sighed as he turned back to find James balancing himself on his head, feet curling around the bars of the cage for supports.

“ _James_ ,” Kreacher scolded and the child blinked at him, grinning cheekily before righting himself.

“Kleecha,” James said solemnly, raising a pudgy hand and lifting it towards him, as if to shake hands. “I’m sleepy.”

Kreacher sighed and snapped his fingers again: the cage vanished and Kreacher scooped James into his arms before he hit the floor. “It is about time, isn’t it?” he said to the top of James’ head, the baby snuggling into the crook of his neck. When Kreacher had settled James into his bed, the child wrapping his blanket around his waist and kicking his feet loose, James blinked up at Kreacher and smiled toothily. “Night, night,” he said, somehow managing to sound teasing even as he dozed off.

Kreacher went back to his cooking and the time fled without any more events; the master and mistress were ringing the bell before he knew it. As he opened the door and welcomed his family in, helping the mistress by taking Lily into his arms, she asked, “Everything went well?”

He nodded, sharing a small smile with the master. “Master James woke up for a little while,” he told them as they all headed to the kitchen. “There’s a vase that needs repairing,” he added in remembrance. Harry laughed.

“Thanks Kreacher,” he said. Harry sank into a seat at the dinner table and looked up as Ginny did not. She nodded her head towards the hallway, smiling as she took back Lily. “I’ll just go settle her in.”

The red-haired newborn had fallen asleep on the way home, snorting in her sleep very similar to her middle brother. Kreacher followed the mistress as Harry waved him off. The mistress tucked the baby into her cot, sighing a little.

“Tired, Mistress?”

Ginny glanced at him and grinned. “A little. Don’t tell Harry, please. He’ll just say that I should be taking longer naps and you know how much I hate being in bed for too long.”

“He says it because he cares,” Kreacher said, stifling a responsive laugh as Ginny giggled. She nodded and passed him, heading back to the kitchen-slash-dining room. Kreacher trailed after her but then entered the boys’ bedroom as an afterthought.

Albus was awake, this time. Unlike his brother, he was just sitting in his cot silently, observing the clouds through the window. He looked around when Kreacher entered the room and grinned, looking very much like Ginny. Kreacher snapped his fingers and attention-seekers appeared above Albus’ head; but these were softer, made of clear rubber, and made the softest, musical notes when touched, each one fogging up with multi-colored mist inside. He left Albus studying the baubles in fascination and went to James’ cot. The baby boy was sleeping peacefully, for once not fidgeting or moving around as he dreamed. He had the tiniest smirk as he slept.

Kreacher stood there for a few minutes, gazing at James’ face, and smiled ruefully. How he did love that demon-child.


End file.
